Sleepless
by pjzallday
Summary: On the eve of the final battle, Spike ponders his fate and love. My take on that mysterious basement scene from "Chosen" 7x22.


Author's notes 2010: After a few years apart, I'm reconnecting with the Buffyverse. After watching "Chosen" and listening to Joss' commentary on the episode, I was moved to revisit this story. Here is an updated version.

Disclaimer: The characters and set-up depicted in this story are not mine nor are the italicised song lyrics.

Author's notes: This story was inspired in part by Joss Whedon's "Chosen" commentary and by Jann Arden's song, "Sleepless" (the lyrics of which are used throughout the story). It was also written as part of a challenge, so I had to suspend my own disbelief (and bitterness) a bit to write it.

Feedback: Always welcome, usually appreciated.

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**Sleepless**

Alone again. Just me and this great gaudy hunk o' glass.

Why's it always gotta be a trinket? Why not a proper weapon? Sword or an axe or what all? Least then I'd know... Wouldn't have to wonder what I'm s'ppose to do.

Guess I don't have to wonder; just gotta stand there, right? Champion, my ass.

There's gotta be more to it. Angel brought it; figured to wear it himself. That's his style, innit: ridin' in, last minute, blaze o' glory to rescue the fair maiden.

"Buffy doesn't need rescuin'." As if he could. Ponce.

Besides, what's'e got that I don't, right? I'm the one who's been here, supportin' her all this time; helpin' her out; backin' her up when no one else would. She gave it t' me 'cause she wanted me. Buffy believes in me. Doesn't she?

She sent him away, knew she didn't need him; he'd only bugger up her plans.

Didn't go without a fight, I'd wager; trying to be the boss, take charge, call the shots. He'd wanna play the hero now, wouldn't 'e?

Buffy doesn't need a hero; she's the hero.

And me? I'm just... "Convenient." I say the word, but it's her voice echoing in my head. Is that all I am? She's got me by the short hairs again, so Angel can be tucked up, all safe and sound.

Bollocks! I'm makin' myself crazy; going 'round in circles... She wanted me to wear it. Me.

So yeah... I can do it. I'll do it.

God... She's gotta know I'd do whatever she wants. How could she not? She says "jump"; I'm already in the air before thinkin' to ask, "How high?"

Footsteps on the stairs pull me from my thoughts: she's here. I clamber to my feet. Bugger, she doesn't even have to say "jump".

Somethin' up: she's just stopped at the foot o' the stairs. Feet set apart, shoulders squared, stiff, stone-faced...

The hairs on the back o' my neck stand on end. Lump forms in my throat. Muscles tense. What 'ave I done now? Forgotten to do?

Has she changed her mind... about me? The plan? Or is she just afraid o'... tomorrow? She's got good reason. Takin' a chance, unleashing hell on earth... Yeah, good reason.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asks. Bit of a rhetorical question that, innit it? Not like I could ever turn her away; she knows that too.

A grin creeps across my face. My eyes sting. "Kind o' wondered what was keepin' ya," I reply.

_Take your coat and shoes off.  
Come and sit beside me.  
We could talk for hours  
Or we could just do nothing._

She's been outside getting some air, tryin' to clear her head, thinkin'... Time was, she'd 'ave gone for a walk — patrolling — taken out her frustration on some... creature of the night. But seein' as I'm the only one of those left about...

We don't do that anymore.

A part o' me misses it: the challenge, excitement, the rush... A part o' me still needs it — wants it: the release. Shut up down here all day can make a body crazy.

And, of course, I miss the other... the bit that, for a time, came after... But not now; we don't do that anymore either. Things between us have changed and I... I've accepted that. Can't go back. Don't even want to.

A bitter huff escapes my throat.

She cranes her neck to look at me sideways, raising an inquiring brow.

Yeah... things 'ave changed.

I shake my head, assure her there's nothin' to worry about. But I can't fool myself.

_Four billion people surround us;  
So many souls lose their way.  
All that we have is each other  
And that's all I ever wanted._

"So... ah... Everyone all snug as bugs upstairs then?" I try to make conversation. "It's been quiet a while."

"You know," she says, as she leans back against the wall, "I'm all talked out. I don't even want to have to think anymore." Her eyes close and she lets out a heavy breath. She's beautiful, reclined like that, arms stretched up, hands tucked behind her head, showin' off her—

"Oh. Ah... Right then." I get up from the cot to let her lie down. My head's still reeling; I know I won't be able to sleep wonderin'— worrying about tomorrow. God... I need a drink, a cigarette. "I'm ah... You go ahead and settle in. I'll just..." I nod to the stairs as I go.

"Spike," she squeaks, that lost fragile little squeak that hurts my heart, stops me dead.

I turn back to her.

She's on her feet now, but lookin' down. She bites her lip, swallows hard. Wide eyes travel slowly up from the floor beneath me. Is she studying me? Or is she just too nervous to look me in the eye? To let me see what's really goin' on in her head?

"Spike," she says again. Her voice is... desperate? "Don't go." She's afraid, I figure; doesn't want to be alone now.

"Buffy..." I try to smile, to comfort her, to hide my own fear.

She grabs my arm. Her grip's firm. Her eyes, her breathing...

Have to turn my head. Can't look at 'er... or let myself believe— believe that she wants anything more than to feel safe. I can't let myself... want... more.

But her breath is strong and hot. It hits my chest like tiny fists. And her blood... Her blood screams; my mouth waters. I swallow, trying to force back the need but I can't—

Then she's kissing me. God...

_Don't you think it's funny?  
Tell me what the point is.  
We could die tomorrow,  
Might as well enjoy this. _

Nimble fingers snake through my hair, down my back. She pushes forward, pinning me against a beam. I feel the heat—

But then with one great gasp, she breaks the kiss and steps back.

"Buffy?" I can't think what more to say. Can't think o' much besides the feel, the scent, the taste of her.

Hands on my chest, she keeps me at arms length. Sod it, we're done. Knew it couldn't last.

Geez... I must look a right sorry sight — horny bastard that I am.

She sees that, I know: brow raised, judging smirk.

Then she lifts her eyes. That look, it's back. Her jaw is tight; chest heaves. I watch as her hands trace down her blouse, one... button... at a... time. She rolls her shoulders, one then the other, shrugging off her top. I follow its slide down her arms and its surreal drop to the floor. The snap of buttons-on-concrete echoes as I stare, mouth gaping open.

Her hands are on me. Pressure's firm as hot smooth palms slide up my stomach... chest, lifting my shirt as they go.

We're fumbling with belts, buttons, zippers and underthings as we stumble across the floor. Bleedin' hell. When'd I become such a nancy? So bloody uncoordinated?

She breaks to catch her breath.

So here we are: two shadows. I drink in the scent of her: touch o' sweat under the sweetness of her perfume. The sight: in the moonlight, she glows. I want her.

Slowly easing down to sit on the cot, she reaches for me. I drop to my knees, meet her wide eyes and, for a moment, time stands still. My mind's a blur. Then, lips connect. Hands... touch. Bodies... Fire and ice. I lean in; she wraps strong silken legs and arms around me, pulling me to her. With my head buried in her hair... her neck, my hand traces the curves of her body. I feel my blood... the pressure building; I melt into 'er. Gasps nip at my ear as 'er breath puffs out with the rhythm of our bodies.

We move: faster, deeper... Gasps turn to moans. She tries to be quiet, biting down on my shoulder. The heat of her mouth... The hiss and pull as she sucks... The sting of her teeth gripping my flesh... Inside, the demon howls.

With a groan, she throws herself back, arms open, breasts glistening, hair splayed. She grips the cot as it squeaks under our weight. Her legs strain against my hips. Her muscles tighten around me, pulling me closer... to her, to ecstasy.

_Four billion people surround us;  
So many souls lose their way.  
All that we have is each other  
And that's all I ever wanted._

Lyin' beside 'er, her back against my chest, I stroke her arm. She doesn't pull away. Things 'ave changed between us... again.

"So... um... What will you do after?" she asks.

"Well, I ah..." I thrust against her and gnaw at the curve of her neck.

She jerks away. "Hey, I'm serious!" she insists, twisting 'round on the cot to look at me. "... sort of." She rolls her eyes self-consciously. "I mean, do you know what you want to do when this is all over?"

I rather fancy doing this, but that's not what she's asking. "I hadn't given it much thought really," I tell 'er. "This is a daft scheme you've got, luv. Not sure it's wise for any of us to be making long-term plans."

She shifts over again.

Bugger.

"I know," she says quietly as she clings to the edge of the bed. "I know it's crazy. I know some of us— Maybe none of us will survive, but... we have to try. Right?"

"True enough," I concede. The mood's gone too dark, too serious. Can't have her up worrying the rest of the night, so I try to wind 'er up, "Say, are we havin' a conversation?"

"Spike, don't!" she snaps.

I've put my foot in it again. We can't go back.

"Things are different now. We're different," she insists. "Can we just... forgive and forget?"

_Give me all your disappointments  
And I'll give you my secrets.  
We could lay our heads down  
Or be forever sleepless._

I haven't been afraid of dyin' in more than a hundred years. Thinking about it, I'm not sure I was ever really afraid o' dyin' even as a boy. Fact of life, it was then: people got sick — my father, my sister, my mum — they withered and they died. Guess I always thought death was... inevitable.

But becoming a vampire changed me. I didn't have think about dying, or wait for it — too busy focusing on the killin'. The hunt, that first flash of fangs, the look of fear... Outnumbered, back against the wall, the fight... The crunch, the tang of that first burst o' rich ambrosia on the tongue, the feel of surrender...

Buffy changed that, made me want to be a better man, to be someone she could believe in, trust... So now I've gone soft. I'm afraid... afraid to die, to lose her... again.

She stretches, pressing back into me. I harden against her ass, she whimpers and, for I time, I'll forget my fear and lose myself in her.

_Four billion people surround us;  
So many souls lose their way.  
All that we have is each other  
And that's all I ever wanted._


End file.
